tears wetting her pillow, it had dawned on her that she no longer blamed Lucian for not visiting Charles. Lucinda had led him to believe his grandfather was apathetic. And perhaps worse. Her actions had inflicted deep hurt on two men. Charles, her friend and substitute grandfather. And Lucian, someone who, if the circumstances were different, she could come to care a great deal about.
But they’re not. Remember that. He’s not the hero you’ve been dreaming about your whole life.
Needing to divert her treacherous thoughts, she grasped blindly for a change in subject.
“Did your house sustain any damages last night? I trust you didn’t discover any handprints on the furniture.” She hoped he didn’t detect the breathless strain in her voice.
“I didn’t find any when I inspected the parlor in the morning light.”
Oh, why did the man have to have a sense of humor beneath that brooding reserve? Where was the haughty arrogance she despised?
“No misplaced children after I left?”
“No,” he said with mock sternness. “I can assure you that if I had, I would’ve brought them straight here for you to deal with.”
“Aw, but look at how well you handled Ollie and Sarah.”
“If you dare to leave me alone with that boy again, there will be dire consequences.”
She couldn’t hold back her laughter, the thrill his subtle teasing sent rushing through her.
“Go ahead. Laugh. You think I’m jesting when in fact I’m completely serious.”
“Right.” The tremor of humor belied his words. Holding her stomach, she laughed harder, recalling his look of strained patience when dealing with the boy.
When Lucian pushed away from the post and stalked towards her, black eyes burning, the laughter died in her throat. Uh-oh. Every nerve ending stood to attention. What were his intentions?
He came very close, clasped his hands behind his back even as his upper body bent towards her. A good three to four inches taller than her, his broad, muscled chest and capable shoulders blocked the moonlight. His nearness didn’t trouble her in the least. She welcomed it, felt sheltered by him. She pressed her arms tighter around her middle to keep from reaching up and weaving her fingers through his brown locks, from pulling him to her. That would be unwise. Extremely unwise.
That didn’t mean she didn’t long to do so. This enigmatic man tugged at her heart, her soul, like the pull of the moon on the ocean’s waves.
“Has anyone ever told you that your laugh is like a song? A merry tune brimming with unbridled enthusiasm?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’ve a heart of a poet?”
Surprise flashed across his face. “No. Never. It must be your influence.” His gaze roaming her face was like a physical touch. “You are so incredibly beautiful.” His warm breath fanned her mouth.
Her lungs hung suspended. Was he going to kiss her?
The door opened then, and Nicole appeared, interrupting them a second time. Megan didn’t know whether to be irritated or relieved.
He straightened, his eyes hooded. Unreadable. The air whooshed from her lungs. Why did she feel as if she’d just missed something special?
“Dessert’s on the table,” Nicole announced brightly, unaware of what she’d interrupted.
“I, ah, am sorry to have to decline, after all.” Lucian backed towards the steps. “But it’s later than I realized. I need to be going.”
“Oh.” She blinked, glanced between them. “Next time, then.”
“Good evening.”
“Wait!” Megan ducked inside for a kerosene lamp. Their fingers brushed as she handed it to him and an unexpected pang shot through her. There was such strength and warmth in those hands. Gentleness, too. “To light your way,” she said.
His features tightened briefly. “Thanks.”
Then he turned and walked away. And Megan was glad she was smart enough to know not to fall in love with the man. Something deep inside warned that it wouldn’t be the happy-ever-after kind of love. More like the Romeo and Juliet, tragic kind of love. For them, there could be no happy ending.
Chapter Seven
Standing in the flower garden Monday afternoon, Lucian turned at the sound of angry footsteps.
“Cabbage?” Megan marched his direction, her pastel-pink skirts skimming the stone path and swiping the blooms unfortunate enough to be too near the edge. “That’s what you’ve been calling me?”
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